


This is Why I Don't Go to the Doctor

by inkwellsandroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Medical Examination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellsandroses/pseuds/inkwellsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland, a New York entrepreneur and businessman, tries to avoid going to the doctor as much as possible. His new doctor will be the death of him. USUK, ONE-SHOT. Gift for ennui160 on Tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Why I Don't Go to the Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ennui160 on Tumblr! She wanted a doctor/patient USUK fic with businessman Arthur and Doctor Alfred. I am only too eager to comply! Hope you enjoy this shameless piece of semi-smut.  
> Warnings: Medical stuff, prostate exam, perhaps slight dubcon? (no sex, just poorly worded request of consent for exam.)

Arthur didn’t do well with doctors. He took care of himself, of course; he ate a balanced diet, got plenty of exercise, made sure to take a day off if he was sick rather than just powering through it like some of his coworkers would inevitably do. But doctors? He didn’t like them.

Perhaps it had started when he was a child, and his family doctor had made a habit of teasing him for his eyebrows (something he’d always been rather self-conscious about), and couldn’t take a hint on when to back off. Or when he’d gotten his first physical as a teenager and had backed out last minute after horror stories from classmates about prostate exams somehow being mandatory (they weren’t, of course, but how was a fourteen year old supposed to know that?).

But, of course, every human has to face their fears someday, and Arthur’s had—unfortunately—come. He groused to himself in the waiting room, his leg bouncing, his fingers tapping his arm. He glanced at his watch completely. His appointment was supposed to end five minutes ago. Where was the blasted doctor? He had better things to do than sit around waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass!

He’d been in for a meeting with a general practitioner the week before (the first time he’d ever met the fellow, actually, despite the fact that he’d been “assigned” to him for over six years by that point). And the prognosis, if Arthur could tell, hadn’t been good. So he’d referred Arthur to a “specialist” named Dr. Jones in the hospital across the street, who couldn’t get him in for another week. Of course. Arthur couldn’t think of a more generic name, either. What if this Doctor Jones was just some quack who—

“Arthur Kirkland?”

About bloody time. The man had taken his sweet bloody time getting here. Arthur followed after the nurse, trying not to show his irritation or trepidation on his expression. He was a man. He co-owned five successful bars and restaurants, had investments in multiple other areas, and owned real estate in seven states. He could handle a god damned doctor’s appointment.

The nurse did the usual pre-appointment bull shit: she recorded his weight (and made a comment on how he should likely try to put some on—as if Arthur hadn’t been trying since he was in bloody college), measured his height, took his blood pressure. After a few questions (which turned into a long list of Arthur saying “no”, with the single exception of “drinking alcohol regularly), she left him alone and went to fetch the twice-damned doctor.

Again, he sat in the chair, his leg bouncing and hand twitching, eyeing the clock as if he were waiting for his first born son to come into the world or some other trite bull shit. He chewed on his inner cheek, fidgeting for almost another five minutes.

Where the fuck was the doctor?

Finally, Arthur could hear footsteps outside the door, and someone pause outside to speak to someone. Doctor Jones, he presumed. He stood outside, talking to this other individual and occasionally laughing, as if he wasn’t almost twenty minutes late to his own bloody appointment. Honestly, Arthur had better things to be doing than waiting for some stupid doctor to deign to keep his own schedule and—

The door opened, and most of Arthur’s complaints flew out the window. Shit. The Doctor was gorgeous. There had to be some kind of mistake here. No doctor was this young. He had to be a med student shadowing someone (and Arthur certainly wasn’t giving some med student permission to sit in on his—exceptionally private reason to be here).

“Doctor Alfred F. Jones, at your service! But you can call me Alfred. Never really got the whole Doctoral Power Trip thing,” the honey-blonde chirped. His smile looked like something out of a toothpaste ad. Arthur stared at him dumbly for a few moments before nodding slightly, mumbling out a greeting as he tried to put together a proper thinking pattern.

Alfred pulled his chair out, sitting backwards in it (as if he was some suburbanite father—what on Earth was this man thinking? He was supposed to be a professional). “So, then. Arthur, right? What appears to be the problem?”

And there was the question. Arthur hated sharing such personal—and often embarrassing—things with doctors. He supposed that was another reason he avoided going to them at all costs. He didn’t feel like explaining to someone else that his body was doing something considered shameful or embarrassing. And despite doctor’s assurances of privacy and confidentiality, he’d seen enough posts on the Internet to know that somewhere on it was a “patient complaint” thread where doctors would complain or laugh about whatever case they got that day. And he had no intention of being a subject.

“Ah. Well—erm. I’ve been… having some difficulty—urinating,” he mumbled.

Alfred nodded a bit, leaning onto his hands as he listened to Arthur. “Has it been cloudy?”

“Erm—no, not that I can recall.”

“Any other symptoms?”

“Well… erm.” And this was the reason Arthur really didn’t want to talk to a doctor. “It’s… aching a bit. Erm—down there.”

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific, Arthur.”

Arthur took a breath. “My—erm….” A long pause. Alfred raised an eyebrow expectantly. “…Shite. There’s an ache underneath my scrotum, all right?” he snapped. His cheeks had brightened to an almost violent shade of red, and his fidgeting had only worsened. The heel of his shoe against the floor made a sharp, rapid clicking noise as his leg bounced.

Alfred let out a short, sharp laugh, though his smile returned. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard a patient say ‘scrotum’ before, usually they say ‘ballsack’ or something. But let’s see what we have here… I’m going to need to do an exam. Is that okay?” he asked. Alfred looked him in the eyes as he spoke to him, and a part of Arthur almost felt entranced. Slowly, he nodded. “All righty, then. I need your pants and underwear off.”

Arthur’s eyes about bugged out of his head. “Wait—what?”

“An exam. Prostate exam,” Alfred repeated. He twirled a finger, motioning towards him. “Go on. Pants off, turn around.”

Arthur sputtered at him for a few moments. This all appeared to be moving so quickly. He’d just met this man thirty seconds ago, and already he was asking him to take his bleeding pants off? (When he thought of it like that, his indignation almost sounded like they were on a first date—but no. Arthur didn’t date people with higher degrees than him. He absolutely refused to date anyone smarter than him.)

“Your general practitioner said that prostate cancer runs in your family, right?”

“Well—kind of—“ Only two cases, and they hadn’t been closely related; did that mean it ran in it? He could remember filling that out on some company paperwork for insurance ages ago, which was where he’d gotten the information from, surely (since he hadn’t asked Arthur), but…

“Well, we gotta rule stuff out, so let’s hope it’s what I think it is and not something more serious,” Alfred repeated. "Now come on. Confidentiality and all that. And if you’re worried about it being gay or whatever, it’s a medical procedure, not—“

“I AM NOT WORRIED ABOUT IT BEING GAY!” Arthur shot back, his voice sounding perhaps a bit more hysterical than he might have liked. For Alfred to be saying such a thing to him—did he look like the kind of git that would be worried about such a thing being “gay”? Did he have that kind of vibe to him?

“Well. Good. ‘Cause it’s not unless you both have boners.” Arthur couldn’t believe he’d just heard the word “boner” come out of his fucking Doctor’s mouth. “Now come on. Relax and just let me do my job, okay? I’ll make sure it’s quick.”

Arthur hesitated for a few seconds more, Alfred’s gaze boring into him, until he finally broke. He scoffed lightly, his cheeks turning a bright red, and he reluctantly let his hands fall to his dress slacks, undoing the button and unzipping it. He wasn’t happy about this, but—the sooner he did this, the quicker it would be over, right?

“Might wanna lose the suit jacket, too,” Alfred responded as Arthur turned around the face the examination table. “And roll up your dress shirt to keep it out of the way.” Arthur’s cheeks flushed darkly as he obeyed. He took a moment to fold his suit jacket and slacks, going with the creases—as if they were new from the store. Call him anal, but he didn’t want to look too… rumpled coming out of this appointment. Somehow, it felt as if that would let others know what had happened.

“Now bend over the table, leaning on your forearms. Yup, like that. Spread your legs… A bit more… More…. Mooore… That’s the ticket. Squat a little bit… Perfect.” Arthur heard the snap of a rubber glove against Alfred’s wrist. “Now I need you to hold still and relax, okay? You’ll feel a slight pressure.”

“A slight pres---OH MY LORD.” Arthur felt a cold finger press inside of him, and he jolted away from it at first, his body arching. It was mostly the temperature, he told himself, though a part of him was finding this position perhaps a bit too familiar. He was getting a prostate exam, not having a fling with the Doctor! Calm down!

Alfred let out another short laugh. “Yeah, I know, it feels weird, sorry,” he apologized. He didn’t sound sorry. Arthur’s entire body was taunt and stiff, like a strung bow. “Hey. You know, you need to relax, or this might actually hurt a bit,” Alfred warned. “I’m using lube, bit it only does so much when you’re this tense.”

Fuck. Arthur couldn’t relax himself. He swallowed heavily and just sat there, his legs twitching slightly, his blush slowly becoming darker. “I…. I didn’t—even want a---fuck.”

Alfred held still while Arthur slowly regained control over himself. When he hadn’t unclenched after twenty seconds or so, Arthur felt a warm hand on his lower back, gently rubbing up towards his shoulders. A comforting thing. “Look, like I said. This doesn’t make you gay or any—“

“I am gay, you absolute fuckwad, that has nothing to do with the fact that an absolute stranger has his finger up my bloody arse!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Arthur hated himself. He mentally slapped himself.

There was a long pause. Alfred cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. He finished Arthur’s prostate exam without another word, pulling off the glove when he’d finished and disposing of it while Arthur put his clothes back on, pointedly not looking at him. He wouldn’t even look at Alfred when he sat back down, fidgeting slightly at the uncomfortable feeling that remained.

“…So, uhm. The good news is that you don’t have prostate cancer?” Alfred said after a while. “Or an enlarged prostate or any of that other gross stuff. It’s just an infection. I’m… Uhm. I’m going to prescribe you a round of antibiotics. It’s one pill every day for two weeks—make sure you take them, okay?” He finished writing out the slip of paper, and handed it over to Arthur.

The Briton could make out the other’s sideways glances, the slight blush that still hung on his cheeks. He’d obviously put the man on the spot. He almost felt bad about it. He cleared his throat, taking the paper from him. “Erm—right. Ah. Thanks.”

“Y…Yeah. Let me walk you out.” Alfred stood with Arthur, who was less than pleased for this idiot to follow him out to his car, but allowed him to follow for the moment. Maybe he just felt bad about putting Arthur in such a bad position.

The walk to his car couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. Arthur could still practically feel the other’s finger inside of him (which was putting his mind in a place it really didn’t need to be, particularly with the doctor himself right there). The absolute silence as they crossed the parking lot was killing him.

“This is fine,” the Briton finally muttered when they arrived at the front of his row. “Thank you, Doctor. You can just—bill the rest to my insurance or whatever.”

“Yeah. Uhm… Look, the reason I walked you out here is because—“

“I know. You’re sorry about saying whatever in there. It’s fine—look I just… I really, really don’t want to talk about it. Like, ever again. I can’t believe that just happened.” He was never going to a fucking doctor ever again.

“No! No. It’s just….” Alfred fidgeted and ran his fingers through his hair, chewing on his lip, before the words came spilling out of his lips like an unbidden flood: “I usually ask this way before I put my finger in someone’s ass, but—do you wanna go get dinner sometime?”

Arthur stared at Alfred for a few moments in shock, slowly deciphering what he’d just spewed out to him. The doctor was asking him out? After that mess? (Not to mention the fact that this moron was actually interested in men?)

Arthur had a policy of never dating someone smarter than him, but for this idiot… He was pretty sure he could make an exception.


End file.
